


Let The Rain Fall

by Rinielle



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Dumb revolutionaries in love, Kissing in the Rain, Love Confessions, M/M, Modern AU, dumb boys being dumb about each others feelings, general fluffiness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-14
Updated: 2014-02-14
Packaged: 2018-01-12 07:14:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1183402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rinielle/pseuds/Rinielle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Grantaire tries and fails to run from his problems, it turns out that there has been a lot of bad communication and everything culminates with kisses in the rain; much to Joly's disapproval.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let The Rain Fall

**Author's Note:**

> Extremely Fluffy Valentine's Day Fic. You have been warned.

It was raining. Of course it was bloody _raining_ , because Grantaire had left his coat inside and his life was just one massive fucked up cliché after another. He had almost decided to turn back around and march back into the café to retrieve it, because fuck adhering to the universes fucked up sense of humour anyway, but even as he turned around he noticed Jehan hurrying towards the door. He did the only thing he could do when faced with everyone’s favourite poet and what was likely to be a long comforting chat ending in hot chocolate, hugs and him sobbing like a baby into what absolutely had to be the most garish shirt in existence.

He ran.

He didn’t stop until he reached his building, reaching into his jeans pockets for his keys before remembering that, oh right, the universe hates him. His keys were still comfortably sat in his coat pocket, which was either still on the back of his chair in the café or hanging on a coat hook in one of his friend’s apartments ready to be returned once they’d left him the standard day and a half to simmer down. Just because there was nothing more the universe could throw at him he kicked the door in frustration, laughing lightly when he didn’t come away with something like a broken toe. At least the doorway offered some slight shelter from the rain. He leant his forehead against the door and repeated the kick every few seconds, more gently, just to make himself feel better. How long he stood that way he couldn’t have said, but it was long enough to convince himself that, at least, things couldn’t get any worse.

“Grantaire?”

He froze for a moment before laughing again; more bitterly this time. He almost wanted to shout ‘well played’ at the sky, but he must look manic enough as it is; hair plastered to his face, kicking doors, laughing at nothing. He turned around, and sure enough there stood Enjolras, complete with red coat and matching umbrella and a darker something tucked under his arm. He glanced down at it before holding it out.

“You forgot your coat,” he said.

No duh. Grantaire scoffed lightly, stepping forward to tug the coat from his hand, “Yeah thanks,” he replied, “I hadn’t noticed.” He pulled his keys from the pocket, turning back towards the door.

“Jehan’s worried,”

He paused lowering the keys, “Jehan worries about a lot of things,” he said, glancing back over his shoulder, “What are you doing here?” Enjolras frowned, holding up his own keys.

“I live here,” he replied simply.

As if Grantaire wasn’t reminded of that every damn day, he rolled his eyes, “I would have thought you’d have important work to do,” he said, “Weren’t you just telling me all about it?” and okay that came out more bitter than he’d meant it to, he wasn’t meant to care enough to be bitter. He was just the cynic, the joker in the corner with the full bottle. He was slipping.

“The meeting broke up after you left,”

“You shouldn’t let _me_ come between you and ‘The Cause’,” putting capital letters into speech was a talent he’d picked up in recent months, and he sort of hated himself for the automatic manner in which he did it.

“I didn’t…” Enjolras cut himself off, clenching his jaw and looking irritated, but Grantaire got the message. He hadn’t _wanted_ to end the meeting. More than likely Jehan had been too distracted, Bahorel had probably kicked up a fuss… maybe Joly had noticed he’d left his coat behind and started fretting; it hadn’t been Enjolras’ choice. That probably explained why he was looking so annoyed; exactly what Grantaire needed, yet another reason for Enjolras to glare at him.

“Sorry to scupper your plans,” he replied turning away again and fitting the key into the door, pulling it open and stepping out of the rain, he held it, waiting for Enjolras to march in after him. When a few seconds had passed he turned around again, finding him standing exactly where he had been, umbrella still up, but not doing much to prevent the rain from soaking his red, white and blue striped converse; and Grantaire had long since given up despairing of Enjolras’ ridiculously patriotic sense of fashion. He seemed deep in thought over something, and even jumped slightly when Grantaire loudly cleared his throat.

“Are you coming in?”

“What?” said Enjolras, fidgeting on the spot in a very un-Enjolras like manner, “Yes. I mean… in a minute, you go ahead,” and Grantaire had been trying to reign in his own irritations, had had the whole run from the café to here to convince himself that he had deserved the words thrown at him back there, but this was ridiculous.

He stepped back outside, slamming the door shut behind him. “You know what?” he sighed loudly and Enjolras was looking at him, slightly bewildered, “If you don’t want me around would you just say so!”

“I never…”

“I mean I can take a fucking hint just fine,” he’d taken one just half an hour ago when he left the meeting, “I can be gone. But if you’d just come out and say it, it’d make moving on with my life so much easier,”

He needed to hear it; because Enjolras had never _ever_ told him to leave. He had scorned and tutted and rolled his eyes, he never remained in a room alone with him for more than a few awkward silent minutes (if that), and more than once he had asked why he was even there; not that Grantaire had ever given him a straight answer, he wasn’t quite that sort of masochist. He preferred admiring from afar whilst receiving nothing but disdain, to revealing his feelings and receiving nothing but pity. He doesn’t blame him. Enjolras was everything that was good in a world that seems determined to snuff out even the brightest of lights, like candle flames at the end of the day. The last thing he needed was someone like Grantaire causing distractions and contributing nothing; deadweight. Perhaps if Enjolras just came out and told him he wasn’t needed, wasn’t wanted, wasn’t welcome… well it might be enough to finally make him let go.

“I…” Enjolras began, but Grantaire barrelled on.

“I know I bring nothing to the group, to your cause, to any of it. I disrupt your meetings and I definitely drink too much and I prattle on about absolute rubbish more often than not.”

“Gran…”

“I know you just barely tolerate me as it is, and I actually appreciate that in a weird and completely messed up way, but here, I’m giving you the opportunity, an out if you will, an exit strategy; cast me from your sight. I will go without question. I was never worthy of being…”

“Oh _good God_ do you ever shut up?!”

Apparently yes. His mouth flew shut at the words Enjolras shouted in frustration, and really it was rather rich of Enjolras to come out with that, as listening to him speak was one of the few things that had ever rendered Grantaire entirely silent in company.

“I am… capable of it,” he replied cautiously, into the silence following Enjolras’ outburst.

“You ask me to speak and then refuse to allow me a word in edgeways,”

Grantaire remained silent, waiting for Enjolras to continue, for the words to come; he had a bottle or three of some particularly dreadful wine that would do nicely when he returned to his flat. Enjolras regarded him for several long moments, as if ascertaining whether or not he was going to start rambling again. When it had to be clear that Grantaire had no intention of speaking, he let out a long sigh and finally stepped forwards, walking straight past a slightly startled Grantaire and reaching for the door.

“Let’s talk inside,”

Oh, and now he wanted to go inside with Grantaire.

“No!” was the reply and he looked around, an eyebrow raised.

“You’re soaked to the bone Grantaire,”

Grantaire shrugged, barely even aware of the rain still throwing itself down on him, “Can’t get any wetter then can I?” he said and Enjolras growled slightly in clear frustration.

“You’re impossible!” he snapped.

“You may as well say what you have to say Enjolras,” replied Grantaire, sounding more at ease than he felt, but appearing unconcerned had always been a talent of his. “A rainy pavement is a good a place as any to kick me to the curb… though I am feeling rather delicate, and would appreciate if any kicking was kept proverbial… what are you doing?” Enjolras was lowering his umbrella, and dropping it to the ground; a moment later he began unbuttoning his coat, until finally shrugging it off completely, tossing it so that it landed in on top of the umbrella. Grantaire watched wide eyed with concern.

“Are you mad? You’ll catch your death!” He shouted and hurried forward, grabbing the coat from the floor and straightening up to try and press it back into Enjolras’ hands.

“No,” Enjolras snapped, rebuffing his efforts, “You want to have this conversation in the rain, that’s fine, I’m just evening things out,”

Damn Enjolras and his overdeveloped desire for equality; and his sense of justice too. He probably thought catching a cold would be some sort of ridiculous penance for throwing Grantaire out of Les Amis… For probably the first time in his life Grantaire glared at him.

“Don’t be a moron; put your fucking coat on!” Not that it would make much difference now, the coat was soaked through and so was Enjolras; golden curls extinguished and plastered to his face and neck, his jumper and jeans had turned darker shades of their real colours and were clearly heavy with water.

“No,” he replied.

Grantaire tried again, “I assure you, _my_ immune system has handled much worse than this, yours however…” Enjolras was already clearly shivering – and really it wasn’t even that cold – but he still held his ground.

“Do you want to leave?” he asked loudly, and Grantaire stared at him as though he had gone completely mad; because what the hell did that matter? “I ask,” continued Enjolras, “Because you seem to be looking for reasons to leave where there aren’t any, and you also seem to be under the impression that you can’t do so without my permission,”

Grantaire continued to stare at him in silence for several moments, trying to make sense of what was being said to him. He failed somewhat miserably and managed to stammer out a “What?” in question. Enjolras huffed.

“Do you want to leave?” Enjolras repeated the question.

“I…” Grantaire had no idea where this was going, but something in his gut told him honesty was probably the best move right now, “No,” he said, “Of course not I…”

“Right, good,” Enjolras cut across him, nodding and turning away, “End of discussion,”

“End of…” Grantaire stuttered, trying to regain balance in his own mind, he rather felt like the world had started moving too fast for him to keep up, “No, hey wait!” he called out and Enjolras paused.

“You don’t get to just turn this all around on me and walk away!” he shouted, noting that this was probably the first time he had ever raised his voice to Enjolras in anything but jest; apparently it was becoming a night of firsts. It was the first time they’d been alone together for more than ten minutes too; if standing on a public pavement could be considered being alone. Someone had probably walked past at some point in the last… he shook his head to stop his mind from wandering, refocusing his attention on Enjolras.

“What more needs saying,” replied Enjolras shortly, “You don’t wish to leave, and I don’t wish you to leave, that’s all,”

“No it bloody well isn’t!” Snapped Grantaire; first number four. Enjolras raised an eyebrow in question again. Grantaire floundered for a moment, because okay, technically that was all… but what was missing was the rather important why. “Since… since when do you not want me gone?” he asked and Enjolras folded his arms across his chest, looking entirely confused.

“I have never felt any desire for you leave,” he replied, and Grantaire floundered again, at a complete loss.

“What?”

“Did the rain get in your ears?” asked Enjolras, and he didn’t wait for a reply, “I do not want you leave, I have never wanted you to leave,”

Grantaire was reasonably sure he had something of a handle on Enjolras, they had never been close, but he was a skilled observer. He knew that he could be short-tempered, sharp and even occasionally cruel – and he had been on the receiving end of all these aspects of his personality more than once – but he had never thought of him as being _dishonestly_ cruel.

“Bullshit,” he snapped, feeling suddenly annoyed.

Enjolras frowned, “What is?” he asked sharply. His tone suggested caution, but Grantaire was standing on a pavement, in the middle of the night, in the rain; caution wasn’t exactly his strong suit.

“Listen… This has all been hilarious, but would you please just put me out of my fucking misery,” he replied, crossing his own arms.

“You think I’m joking?” Enjolras asked, looking incredulous, and for a moment Grantaire’s certainty shook; he sent him a ‘well duh’ expression in reply anyway. Enjolras threw his arms in the air, “Are you serious?” and Grantaire wasn’t quite quick enough with a witty comeback, Enjolras barrelled on, “No, don’t answer that, you never are!” he snapped, “God, I know you don’t believe in everything the others and I say at meetings, but you could at least believe that I don’t simply lie about my own thoughts and opinions,”

Grantaire scoffed, “Haven’t you heard?” he replied scathingly, “I don’t believe in anything,”

Throwing Enjolras’ own words back in his face came with a mixed feeling of triumph and self-loathing when they hit home and Enjolras’ whole body seemed to deflate in front of him.

“That’s not true,” he said, after a moment, and Grantaire prepared to respond that he was being immensely hypocritical in not believing Grantaire’s words, but he continued, “You believe in them,” and Grantaire froze.

“Who?” he asked, though he knew exactly who Enjolras meant.

“Les Amis,” replied Enjolras, “Your friends. Don’t even think about telling me you don’t. You’re always encouraging Jehan in his poetry, exchanging stories with Bahorel… Whenever Feuilly comes in late and worn out, you’re always the first to buy him a drink and make him laugh. You tease Joly endlessly about his hypochondria, but he told me you stayed up with him all night when he had a panic attack last week. When Bossuet’s down on his luck, you always have a tale to tell him to make him feel better. You are always in league with Courfeyrac over our more… unusual group activites, and just a few days ago you painted an entire mural with Combeferre’s third graders. So, maybe you don’t believe in everything we say, or want to achieve, but you believe in _them_.”

Grantaire stared at him in amazement; he wasn’t even aware that Enjolras knew he existed beyond as a passing annoyance. That he could rattle off a list like that was difficult to account for. There was however, a notably missing figure in this recap of people Grantaire ‘believes’ in.

“And you?” he managed to stammer out eventually, curiosity peaked.

“Me?” Enjolras sighed, glancing down at the pavement and looking more unsure than Grantaire could ever remember seeing him before, “I don’t count,”

“You don’t count?” and it was Grantaire’s turn to be incredulous.

“I’m not… You don’t…” First number five? Grantaire wracked his brains, but honestly he couldn’t think of a single previous instance in which Enjolras didn’t know what to say. He was looking irritably from side to side as he searched for words.

Enjolras finally settled on: “Well, _we’re_ not exactly _friends_ are we?” and even though Grantaire knew it was the truth, even though he had known it was the truth for a long time now, the words once they were spoken out loud, from Enjolras’ mouth, felt like bullets tearing through him. Winded, he was barely able to find words himself.

“I guess not,” he choked out.

“I mean, you never talk to me unless it’s to make some sort of joke, and you sit, shaking your head when I talk,” Grantaire blinked. Knowing that what Enjolras said was true, but entirely not for the reasons he seemed to think, “You don’t even talk to me like you do with the others, you speak as if I’m a child, as though I’m naïve.” It was true that Grantaire tended to speak more gently to Enjolras than everyone else but… “Whenever we’re alone you avoid speaking to me altogether, you won’t even look at me,” and okay that was also true, but then Enjolras had never exactly made an effort either… “You clearly don’t believe in The Cause and that’s all I am to you, I’ve heard you talking to Joly and Bossuet and…” He trailed off, but Grantaire knew the conversations he meant; how often had he waxed lyrical on the many ways that Enjolras so embodied the fight for freedom and justice, “So, no, I don’t count. How can you believe in me, when clearly you don’t even _like_ me?” concluded Enjolras, leaving him stunned.

“I?” he asked, not sure whether to laugh or turn and bang his head against the wall, “I don’t like _you_?” Enjolras folded his arms again, jaw set, and shrugged his shoulders in a way that said ‘Well you don’t!’ and if that wasn’t the most utterly ridiculous statement Grantaire had ever heard him make; and he’d come out with some pretty darn kooky stuff in the past.

“Are you…” Grantaire shook his head, hands coming up to wipe at his face to buy himself a moment. “Forgive me, I have to be sure, are you high?” Enjolras’ glare was enough of an answer to that question and he waved his arms in surrender, “Fine, fine,” he said, still hardly able to believe what he’d just heard, “But my disliking you so much? That’s a very large assumption on your part, you’ve never bothered to ask my opinion on the matter,”

“And you refuse to believe my opinion on the matter of you leaving.” Replied Enjolras, “I’d say you’ve been making some rather large assumptions of your own,”

“Oh I think it’s general knowledge that _you_ don’t like _me_ ,”

Enjolras shifted from one foot to the other, the way he always did when faced with opposition, “Is that so?” he asked stiffly.

“It is,” replied Grantaire, meeting his gaze steadily.

“And might I ask what makes your assumption somehow more valid than mine?”

“Do you want an alphabetical list or a chronological one?”

“I gave, y-you a list in case you’ve already forgotten,” Enjolras suddenly shivered violently, and Grantaire couldn’t help but notice his hands were shaking. He sighed loudly.

“Would you come inside?” he said gently, gesturing towards the door, but Enjolras held his ground firmly, shaking his head. Grantaire despaired, and continued in a firmer tone, “Enjolras you’re freezing, and I’m not fairing much better over here…”

“Don’t change the subject,” snapped Enjolras and that was that, Grantaire rounded on him.

“Fine,” he shouted, throwing his arms up in defeat, “You want me to explain myself, fine. First of all, I make jokes about _everything_. I mock _everything_. It’s how I cope with this fucked up world. But I wind up shaking my head whilst you talk because I never come so close to actually believing in all that bullshit about changing the world as I do when I listen _to you_. Because I know it’s all going to come to nothing but God damn it, you make me wish it wouldn’t!” Enjolras looked as though he might interrupt, but Grantaire held up a hand to signal that he wasn’t done; he wasn’t nearly done. “I don’t talk to you when we’re alone for two reasons, one, what the hell do we have to talk about? Have you taken a look at us recently? We have absolutely nothing in common, and I’d only end up pissing you off. Two, you never stick around long enough anyway. Honestly it’s like you think you might catch ‘cynical asshole’ off me if you stay in the same room long enough. As for the way I talk to you, perhaps I don’t speak as I do with the others, but it’s only because I respect you more. Do I think you’re naïve? Yes. I think all of you are naïve… and one day you’re all going to realise just how naïve and that terrifies me… but none more so than you. I don’t want to imagine a world where you aren’t standing in the middle of a crowd screaming for justice, or on a stage with fire in your eyes demanding freedom for all the world, but I do, I can’t help it, and it scares me… you scare me. You’re too much! Don’t you see that? You soar too high for someone like me to even contemplate and I’m terrified that one wrong word could be enough to…” he broke off, gritting his teeth and taking a deep breath to stave off the tears threatening at the corners of his eyes.  “You’re half right you know, I care so much for the others, for all of them,” he said after a moment, Enjolras staring at him wide eyed and shocked; any other time he might laugh at rendering their ‘fearless leader’ speechless. “I don’t know where I’d be without them, probably nowhere very good. But it all pales around you. I spend my whole life pretending I believe in nothing, that suits me quite well, but not with you. I can’t pretend I don’t believe in you, and I can’t pretend that doesn’t scare the shit out of me…  so you don’t get to tell me that I don’t like you, because I am so in fucking love with you it’s pathetic! Because I know that when you look at me all you see is a drunk, cynical nobody; and that’s okay, because that’s what I am. I have never asked anything of you, but at the very least don’t lie to me.”

Several seconds past and he didn’t dare look up at Enjolras. No doubt he was only still standing there because of Grantaire’s total inability to be succinct; any minute now he’d work his way through everything he had just said and then… Well. If Grantaire was lucky he’d tell him to his face to not bother coming back to another meeting; he thought, at least, Enjolras might consider him deserving of that much. Until then he stared at the ground.

When he heard the soft splashing sound of footsteps he closed his eyes as if bracing himself, and for a moment he wondered if Enjolras was going to simply walk straight past him and into the building behind. The steps stopped. A moment later he heard a loud sigh, and opened his eyes in time to see Enjolras’ shoes right in front of his own, and a hand reaching out tentatively to grasp his own; Enjolras fingers were like ice. Grantaire’s head jerked up in confusion, and he found Enjolras looking steadily into his face; expression unreadable.

“I need you to listen,” he said quietly, and his lips twitched almost imperceptibly; but then Grantaire had always been rather more attuned to him than to anyone else. He noticed. There was a strange look in his eyes too, something like when an event or speech is pulled off successfully but softer somehow. It almost looked as though he were trying not to smile. “I know,” he continued, “That staying quiet is difficult for you, but indulge me,”

Standing close as they were, with Enjolras’ hand gripping his gently but firmly – as if afraid he might run away – Grantaire thought it would be a miracle if he could make any sound at all. He nodded his assent; curiosity mixing with confusion mixing with dread, mixing with cheap beer in his stomach.

“It seems, we have both been labouring under mistaken beliefs,” Grantaire blinked, and when his head shot off to his right at the sudden sound of a passing car, he felt the hands on his tighten slightly. He looked down at them, pale white with cold, a stark contrast against his own. “I’m going to be really, very clear now, I don’t hate you. I may not always have appreciated your particular brand of input… and I know that I can be… short tempered at times. But I don’t now, nor have I ever, hated you.”

The urge to argue was, thankfully, quashed by the desire to stay standing the way they were for as long as possible. Grantaire had always been a man of simple dreams and low expectations, and this was far closer to Enjolras than he had ever imagined being; even he wasn’t quite so much of a monumental screw up as to ruin this moment.

 

“I love you,”

Grantaire gaped a moment, brain trying to figure out how to make his mouth work again. He got as far as opening it and beginning to shake his head and the grip on his hand turned almost vice like.

“I swear if the next words out of your mouth are ‘no you don’t’ I’ll leave you out here to freeze to death,” said Enjolras, voice a strange combination of teasing and steel like honesty, “I’ll feel sad about it but I will,”

Grantaire swallowed, brain finally catching itself up.

“You… _love_ me?” he asked weakly, eyes focused on their joined hands, hardly daring to believe what his ears, his eyes, what all his senses were telling him.

“So much that it’s pathetic,” replied Enjolras softly, shuffling minutely closer, “I know I haven’t exactly been obvious about it. Combeferre says I have problems expressing unfamiliar emotions in a healthy way,” he added, somewhat sheepishly, and Grantaire snorted lightly.

“You could say that,” he said.

“I’m sorry,”

Grantaire glanced up to meet his gaze again, first number ten? He honestly couldn’t say, he’d lost count. Enjolras was looking back at him, all sadness and apology.

“There’s nothing I can say to make up for the things I have said to you in the past, the way I have acted,”

Grantaire blinked, and swallowed again, clearing his throat lightly before allowing himself the smallest of hopes – that this was real, that he wasn’t dreaming, that it wasn’t a lie – and the smallest of smiles, “The ‘I love you’ is a good start,” he half whispered, and Enjolras returned the smile with a radiant one of his own. When had the sun come out again? Grantaire was barely aware of their surroundings anymore. Everything had narrowed to the two of them.

“You love me,” Grantaire tested the words again; carefully, quietly, as if they might break.

“You love me,” Echoed Enjolras, sounding far more certain about it, and didn’t that just reflect them so very well.

Grantaire nodded anyway, just for something to do.

Enjolras cocked his head to one side and added, “Maybe… we could do something about that?” in such a hopeful tone that Grantaire couldn’t help but smile fully. The smile was still there as they both leaned forward, meeting in a kiss. Releasing his grip on his fingers, Grantaire felt Enjolras’ hands slide instead onto his chest, gripping lightly at the fabric of his shirt. For his part he was too focussed on the warmth of Enjolras’ lips on his and the easy way they slid together to think about what to do with his own hands. It wasn’t until he felt the brick against his back that he even realised they had been moving steadily backwards, and as Enjolras crowded even closer, his hands wrapping around Grantaire’s hips, the need for more, to be closer, to touch finally caught up to him and he moved to wrap his arms around his shoulders, hands seeking golden hair.

His fingers found soaked curls, and after a moment, it finally dawned on him that they were still very much out in the middle of the street, and it was still very much raining. He pulled away gently, letting his hands rest at the base of Enjolras’ neck, and met his curious gaze with a slightly sheepish smile.

“It’s still raining,” he said, and he might have been stating the absolutely bloody obvious but the look of dawning comprehension on Enjolras’ face was enough to assure him that he wasn’t the only one so lost in the moment that he had forgotten the weather

They both started laughing at the same moment, leaning against each other, hands still roaming. As the laughter subsided, Grantaire captured Enjolras’ face in both hands, leaning forward to press one soft kiss to his lips.

“We should go in,”

Enjolras nodded, but made no move to step away, simply staring down at him with a softness and affection that Grantaire could never have imagined being aimed at himself.

“You’re uh, your coat is still in the middle of the pavement,” he added, and that appeared to do the job as Enjolras jolted slightly and whirled around. Grantaire bent to pick up his own jacket, which was resting beside him.

Once they were both inside at last, bundled into Grantaire’s own apartment and changed into fresh, warm, and most importantly dry clothes – Enjolras having needed to borrow three jumpers just to get warm again – they curled up beside one another on the sofa.

“It’s not going to be easy you know,” said Grantaire, breaking the silence that had followed them through the door. “I’m still a cynical asshole, after all,”

“And I’m still stubborn as hell and have no idea what I’m doing,” replied Enjolras, glancing down into his mug of hot chocolate, when he looked up again it was with the sort of conviction in his gaze usually reserved for riling up a crowded square, “But we can make it work,” he added, and for the first time, Grantaire allowed himself to believe in the words as well as the man.

Enjolras smiled when he nodded his agreement.

“Speaking of your stubbornness,” said Grantaire, “I refuse to take any blame if we end up sick, what sort of idiot takes his coat off in the middle of a rainstorm?”

Enjolras raised an eyebrow at him, “What sort of idiot leaves his coat with his house keys in a bar, and then runs away instead of coming back inside to get them?” he parried. Which, fair enough.

“Guess we were both pretty stupid huh?”

“It was worth it,”

And yeah, Grantaire thought as he watched Enjolras take a small sip from his mug before sneezing lightly and looking suddenly stricken, it really was.

* * *

 

When, the very next day, they were both hold up in bed, with around fifty blankets – where did Joly get all of those from anyway? – wrapped around them, and their medically inclined friend himself fussing over them like an overgrown mother hen – berating them loud and often about having exposed themselves to the elements like that, and really what did they expect and ‘ _No Enjolras you may not go to the meeting tonight sit the hell down and eat your chicken soup’_ – they couldn’t even bring themselves to complain; much.


End file.
